The Left Hand of the Prophets
Prologue The fuckers won't let me die. I know I should be. I'm bleeding out of practically every damn part of my body. I can feel my heartbeat slowing. My breath is getting shallower. I know that my vision would be getting darker if I could see, but the blood from my head dried over my eyelids, rendering me blind. Gave them what-for, though. Tore them up worse than they tore me up. And that's saying something. "You are most resilient." I coughed, spitting out a globule of blood. The pain didn't mean anything to me. Just a distraction. I had learned long ago to enjoy it. "Yeah? You should see me when someone's really given me a beating," I managed to cough out. I felt cool compresses being applied to my body all at once, and the pain lessened. My heart stopped slowing. I was being stabilized. "Why won't you let me die?" I spat, feeling my lungs being encased in some sort of field. Liquid seeped over my face, rinsing the blood away. It stopped, and I cracked open one eye. I was surrounded by strange medical machines. "Because I want what you want." The voice spoke again. I couldn't identify where from, but it was most certainly male. Or at least, what I identified as male. "Who are you?" I asked. Feeling a needle slide into my thigh. An alien floated into the spotlight from my left. A Prophet. To my knowledge, no human had laid eyes on a Prophet yet. "I am the Prophet of Health, human. Your species, and your kind in particular, are most extraordinary. Despite having such inferior technology, you have lasted longer than any other species before you, and many show as much courage as any Sangheili warrior." The alien spoke. His voice was pleasant, even if the sight of him did make me want to tear his goddamned throat out. "And what makes you think we want the same things?" The Prophet sighed. "You Spartans are cunning. Do you really think us all alike? I monitor more than the health of prisoners that come through here. I also happen to question them, learn about them... in the most peaceful way possible. Of course, most of you refuse to talk at all. Admirable, but it forces me to release those who don't talk to the more... aggressive of my kind. But I want to work with you. I want to stop this war that has become nothing more than senseless killings." "Get to the damned point." I spat. The alien glowered slightly, and then his expression softened again. "I want you to fight for me. To help stop the war. I have power, yes, but I need more if our races are ever to see peace again." "After everything your kind has done, you want me to fight for you?" I laughed. "Go to Hell." "If not for me, then simply... see me as a turncoat, if you will. I help your race from inside this one, and you help me. My orders are to cremate you. The Heirarchs already think you dead, as do the rest of the Covenant." I let my head fall back to the table, examining the not-so-veiled threat. "What would you have me do?" "Nothing beyond your skills. I can get you armor and weapons and repair your body when it comes to harm. You will not be forced to kill any humans, nor kill anyone if you decide not to. However, I may unfortunately be forced to ask you to retrieve something from your UNSC." "You ask me to betray my oath. To betray my life." "No, Spartan. I ask you to fulfill it in ways that none of your kind ever have before." I let these words sink in. The Prophet knew his words were getting to me, and what he said did make sense. He pressed on. "You see, Spartan, I need you. The fate of all our races hinges on what you decide. I will continue healing you for the time being, but please, think on these words." Please. That wasn't something you heard from an alien often. Usually all you heard was a roar as they tried to burn your body to a cinder. "I'll... think about it." I said, keeping my voice even. The Prophet smiled. "Will you at least... tell me your name? Believe me when I say it would be an honor." The silence stretched for several seconds. "My name... My name is Randall. Randall-037." Chapter 1